Weeks
by PrettyLilyFlower
Summary: In week 26 after Elphaba's demise, Glinda the Good Witch fell ill. Oneshot. Complete.


In week 26 after Elphaba's demise, Glinda the Good Witch became ill.

Ever since that fateful night, Glinda had begun to think of time passing in weeks. Week one after Elphaba's demise, Glinda had begun to take a glass of wine at dinner each night, even though (while she would never admit it to the doe-eyed, shiny-haired, clear-skinned "popular" party-girls she so carefully associated herself with at Shiz, especially in that first year) she never really cared for the taste of alcohol.

In week three, Glinda attended three balls and four dinner parties alongside different political powerhouses. At the second ball, the young lord of the estate (chiseled features and dark eyes) pulled Glinda aside and kissed her in the rose garden under the moonlight. His lips on hers were soft and gentle, and suddenly, she was transported away from the stress, away from the gnawing sadness that consumed her. She pulled away from him, and coyly whispered an invitation back to her palace. He drew her close to him, grinned into her collarbone and accepted.

Week five, Glinda awoke in a cold sweat. Her nightmares – Elphaba's, Fiyero's, and The Wizard's faces taunting her – making her heart race and putting her on the edge of tears. She employed a little nightcap that evening – and in fact, most evening there after – to calm her nerves and clear her mind.

During week seven, Glinda laid on the luxurious carpet of her bedroom and cried so hard, she could barely catch her breath. The young lord from week three had stopped coming around without so much as a word, she had been late for two different meetings that week, and publicly scolded, like a child, by an older member of Oz's elite politically cabinet for her tardiness. And worst of all, she still couldn't hear Elphaba's name without her heart aching and needing an extra glass of wine to dull the ache.

Weeks eight through 25 were a blur of wine, men, banquets, meetings, policies, desperate nights, and shameful mornings. Anything to simultaneously make Glinda feel and keep her on the brink of forgetting.

And then there was week 26.

Glinda had been feeling ill for the past several weeks. Headaches, a finicky stomach, and backaches galore. She had ignored her symptoms, attributing it to stress and a lack of quality sleep. It was only when she fainted at the breakfast table that morning that she reluctantly let one of her maids call a doctor to come and, as her maid firmly said while tucking Glinda into her enormous, soft bed like a child, amid her protests, "a once over."

Glinda sat patiently in a thin nightgown as a kindly, older woman with stark white hair, checked her blood pressure, listened to her heart, and took a blood sample (Glinda teared up when she saw the needle coming toward her).

"I'll be back with the results of this in a jiffy, my dear," the doctor told Glinda, giving her pat on the knee as she bustled out of the room with the blood sample and her doctor's bag.

Glinda flopped impatiently onto her bed. This put a wrench in her plans. Her lunch with the newly appointed governor of Munchkinland would have to be pushed back to next week has well as her conference with a social activist group in regards to the rights of Animals in Oz, but as long as she made it to the Chancellor's Charity Ball this evening (in her stunning, straight from the designer, red silk gown), her schedule could have a semblance of organization.

The doctor appeared in the doorway and gave a gentle knock. Glinda popped up and gave the doctor a winning smile. "Yes, doctor? Just a case of a stomach bug?"

The doctor gave Glinda a stained smile in return and quietly said, "Why don't you sit down, Miss Glinda?"

Glinda's heart instantly dropped to the pit of her stomach. Was this how it ended? A grim prognosis as she sat in a dingy nightgown in her bedroom?

Glinda dropped down to the edge of her bed, and looked up at the doctor, who pulled up one of the armchairs from the corner. "Miss Glinda. Congratulations, you are going to be a mother."

All Glinda could do was stare at her. For once, Glinda's polished manners and classic charm failed her. There were no words, only her heartbeat, loud and hard against her ribcage. The noise filled her ears and consumed her.

"A-a mother?" she stammered. She let out a quick, sharp bark of a laugh. "I don't mean to laugh, doctor, but that is impossible."

The doctor only looked down at her own folded hands. "Is there anyone I can call for you, Miss Glinda? The father, perhaps?"

And that is when Glinda the Good Witch lost all composure.

Her tears were slow to start, but within seconds, Glinda, the most envied woman in all the land, was kneeling on her bedroom floor, sobbing unabashedly into her hands in the most unladylike of ways. _How could this happen? How? How? How?_ was the refrain in her mind. Of course, Glinda knew _how_ this happened (she was doing panicked math in her head, realizing that there were a number of men who could have fathered this child), but what she really wanted to know was _why_ this happened to her at this moment in her life.

As her sobs slowed to pathetic little hiccups, the doctor slid down to floor and kneeled next to Glinda. She seemed to contemplate her next move hard, but then decidedly wrapped her arms around the petite woman a way a mother would comfort a small child. She let Glinda's crying subside as she swayed with her, tangled together in a mass of limbs and damp tears.

Glinda looked up into the doctor's kindly face and told her in a wavering voice, but one she hoped was decidedly firm, "I can't do this, doctor. I am alone."

The doctor released Glinda gently, and took a deep breath. "Miss Glinda, there are…options right now. I can list them, but we would have to get a midwife in here to explain those options more thoroughly. You are only about ten weeks along." Glinda continued to look the doctor in the eye, with a desperate, almost childlike expression in her eyes, begging the doctor to fix this, make it better. The doctor took another deep breath, "You could terminate the pregnancy, Miss Glinda. If that is what you wish."

 _Terminate_. The word almost knocked the breath right out of Glinda. It was an ugly word. A harsh, technical term void of emotion. But termination…it would be an easy fix. No one would ever have to know. She would go on with her life, and trying to be good leader to Oz. She would still be perfect. Pristine. Of course this is what she had to do.

But.

Glinda closed her eyes and suddenly imagined herself holding a small bundle. Faceless and nameless and warm, but something that was all her own. Something that was untouched by politics and the evil of the world. Something so genuinely pure and innocent.

How could she terminate it? How could she end her possibility to make good? This was her opportunity to bring someone into the world and teach them what it meant to be brave and smart and kind and _good_. Hadn't she spent her whole life (no matter how haphazardly) trying to make good? Wasn't that her promise to Elphaba? That she would make good?

This brought on a fresh round of tears. _Oh Lurline. Elphaba_. She had spent the last 26 weeks avoiding thinking about her, tucking her into the deepest, darkest corners of her mind, but now she was all Glinda could think about. This child could be the chance she wanted to honor Elphaba – a way to somehow offer up something to the world that might make up for the light it lost when Elphaba left it.

"I can't," were the only words Glinda could manage, as her shoulders slumped. "I absolutely can't."

Glinda watched as the doctor tilted her head and seemed to carefully weigh her next words. "Miss Glinda…a child…a child needs many things to become a good person, but most importantly, that child needs a family. People who love and care and nurture that child into blooming like a flower."

Glinda looked up, suddenly fierce. Her dainty features became hard, intense. "This child…this child has no father, but this child has me. I don't know if I'm enough, but I'm sure as hell going to try."

The doctor looked at Glinda again. She smiled, stood up and smoother her white coat, as if Glinda's resolve was what she needed to hear to know it was appropriate to take her leave. "I will make you an appointment with the best midwife we have. She will come to see you next week. In the meantime, rest, relax…and no nightcaps." She looked pointedly at Glinda's bedside cabinet. Glinda turned red, wondering how she could sense it, but knew full-well she would be dumping her bottles of alcohol down her sink once the doctor left.

Glinda stood, too. She watched the doctor methodically collect her things, counting and cleaning as she went.

Glinda knew she wasn't all she had to be yet for this child. She wasn't fierce enough or fearless enough or patient enough. But she would learn. Oh, she would learn. She had seven more months to grasp the basics, and a lifetime to learn the rest.

The doctor turned back to Glinda once more, "Miss Glinda, here is my card. Please feel free to contact me if you have any more questions." Glinda took the card gratefully. The doctor hesitated, her hand on the doorknob, "You are not alone. Nor will you ever be alone," she told Glinda quietly, and she silently disappeared out the door, leaving Glinda quite alone in her bedroom.

Glinda peered down at the card in her hand, and put a hand to her mouth. _Elphina P. Winters, MD_ , the card read.

 _Elphina._ Well, how was that for a sign? She placed a palm on her still-flat stomach, closed her eyes, and smiled. A sure sign, indeed.

It was week 26 when Glinda's life changed forever.

 **Author's Note:** After my five year (!) break, I needed something to get me back into this. Feedback is always welcome.


End file.
